MariAli South Pole Adventure
by ahiijny
Summary: Alice Mathisen (24 years old) doesn't see what the big fuss is about being the first or second or whatever to the South Pole. Marisa Killigan (24 years old) wants to be the first to reach the South Pole at any cost. Alice joined Amundsen's South Pole expedition. Marisa joined the Terra Nova expedition. Historical Reincarnation AU. MariAli.


**A/N: **Touhou Secret Santa present for SonOfDysonSphere!

* * *

**7 September 1909**

**Norway**

Dr. Alice Mathisen (24 years old) isn't particularly interested in the goings on of the outside world. Anything outside of her daily routine between her home and the hospital, she just doesn't really pay much attention to. She supposes that now that she's an adult, she ought to keep herself more informed on current events, but she's tried reading the newspaper a few times, but it just couldn't hold her interest for long. In her free time, she's far more content to tinker with her (numerous) homemade dolls, or perhaps settle in with reading a decent book.

But even as willfully uninformed on current events as she is, she's bound to pick up some of the really big news, just from overhearing it in conversation between her colleagues.

"Did you hear?" one of the nurses says to another in the break room. "They say one of those Americans reached the North Pole."

"Oh yes!" says the other nurse. "I read about it in the paper this morning! Peary, that was his name. Gosh, imagine that flag at the North Pole!"

"But didn't some other chap say the same thing just last week?"

"That was Cook. He said he was the first."

"Ah, right."

Alice sips from her cup of tea, flipping a page in her book.

So, from what she's overheard, it seems that there've been two North Pole claims in quick succession. Cook claims he reached the pole in 1908. Peary claims he reached the pole in 1909. Not that she can ever understand why on earth these men would ever want to venture so far north in the inhospitable snowy icy Arctic coldness, but to each their own, she supposes.

An older nurse pops into the break room, knocking on the door. "Doctor Mathisen, are you almost done your break? We have a patient who needs stitches, and the other doctors are currently busy with their own patients."

"Right, of course," says Alice. She downs the rest of her cup in a single gulp. She gathers her books and her cup and stands to her feet. "I'm coming right away."

As she walks out of the room, her sharp ears pick up on a couple of hushed exchanges from behind her.

"Oh right, that one's a doctor. I keep forgetting. She's so young…"

"I know, right?"

_I can hear you, you know,_ thinks Alice. She decides to just pretend she didn't hear.

Alice strides into the room. A man with a nasty gash on his left forearm is sitting on the chair. He's calmly reading a newspaper that he's holding in his right hand.

The man looks up from the newspaper, and starts slightly in surprise. "You're the doctor?"

"Yes," says Alice, picking up the clipboard and rapidly skimming it. The nurse already told her most of what she needs to know. "Let's see, Mister… Leon Amundsen?"

"Yes, that's me." he asks.

"Pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr. Alice Mathisen," Alice says in a bland voice, not sounding particularly pleased at all. She doesn't look away from the clipboard.

"The pleasure's all mine," the man says cheerily. He squints, taking a closer look at Alice. "Say, aren't you a little young to be a doctor?"

"Indeed," Alice says. She turns to the man to take a closer look at the arm.

"Oh, yeah," he says, waving his other hand. "It's you know, a silly accident. Slipped and fell. Stairs. My arm caught the worst of it."

"This will need stitches," says Alice, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a syringe and some wipes. "First, I'll disinfect the wound. Then I'll apply some local anesthetic… there."

The man winces slightly at the brief prick of the needle. "You work fast," he comments.

"It should take effect within a few minutes," says Alice, walking over to the bio waste bin and dropping in the used needle.

With a few minutes to kill, Alice supposes this is the moment where most doctors would make some pleasant small talk to lighten the atmosphere. But that doesn't really play to Alice's strengths, so the room just sort of stifles in awkward silence for a while.

"So how about that Peary and Cook, huh?" says the man, waving the newspaper. On the front page of the newspaper, there are the headlines _Stars and Stripes at the North Pole_ in large bold letters. "Amazing stuff, isn't it? I'd say between the two of them, they've gotten the North comfortably squared away and done with. And what with Shackleton reaching 88° 23' South a couple of years back, that means the South Pole is almost done with, too. Can you believe it? In this world, there's only a tiny corner of the globe left unexplored."

"Is that so," says Alice. She glances at the clock in the room.

"Did you know, Cook is actually an old acquaintance of my family! He and my brother, Roald—they went together on the Belgian expedition down to Antarctica back in '97. They were the first expedition to ever successfully overwinter in Antarctica, can you believe that?"

"Hoh," says Alice, deciding that she ought to be at least making a token effort of making this seem like a conversation and not just one person jabbering on and on.

"You know, my brother's been planning his own expedition to the North Pole. He's been planning it for ages, but I suppose now all the glory of being the first to the pole has been swept from his sails, now that his former goal has already been reached twice over." He sighs. "What a shame, really."

"Does it really matter who first or second?" asks Alice. She snaps on her gloves and prepares the needle and the suture thread. "In my view, as long as you achieve the scientific objectives of your mission, the optics of being first or second are inconsequential."

The man barks out a laugh. "If only it were that simple! But funding an enterprise as enormous as this is subject to the ebbs and flows of public interest, would you not say? And so, these 'optics', of which you speak so dismissively of, do play an important role."

"Hm," says Alice, starting the process of stitching up the wound on the man's arm. The man's eyebrows raise at the speed and precision of her work. (Why do they always look so surprised? Is it because she's so young?) "I suppose," she says absentmindedly. "Everyone remembers the first man on the moon, but hardly anyone remembers the second man, or third, or fourth man on the moon. So I guess that's true, in a fashion."

There's a short pause.

"…Man on the moon?" repeats the man.

"Mm-hm," says Alice.

There's a short pause. Then, the man laughs. "I surely hope I have not missed something as monumental as the conquering of the skies beyond the Earth. But I find such an idea to be unlikely."

Alice pauses, frowning.

Curious. Why on Earth was she so convinced that humans have landed on the moon? For a moment there, she'd just taken it for granted without a second thought. But now that this man pointed it out, the idea seems absurd, given the present level of technology in the world.

"…Huh." Alice forces a smile. Her mind races to think of a way to dispel the weirdness of the situation. "Oh, I am referring to fiction, of course," she says. She continues stitching. "You know, Jules Verne," she adds, thinking of something on the spot.

"Ah yes, _From the Earth to the Moon_," says the man. "A classic."

"…Sure." Alice cuts the thread. "There, I'm done."

"That was fast indeed," says the man, looking in surprise. He moves his arm back and forth tentatively. "This is very fine work."

"Your appreciation is duly noted," Alice deadpans, stepping back to grab the bandages. With several quick hand motions, she finishes securely bandaging up the arm as well. "Come back in two weeks to have the stitches removed. It should be sufficiently healed by then."

"Very well," says the man, standing up. He glances at Alice, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. "I never would have expected a woman of your age to have read Jules Verne. So you're a fan of science, are you?"

Alice removes her gloves and walks over to the sink to wash her hands. "Sure, let's go with that," she says.

"Well, if you ever happen to have some disposable moneys on your possession, just remember," he says, winking. "The _Fram_ expedition, led by my very own brother, Roald Amundsen, is dedicated to the collection of scientific measurements and research in the Northern Polar latitudes. Including the North Pole, of course!"

"North pole?" Alice says absentmindedly. "Not the south?"

"Correct! It's always been Roald's goal to succeed where the previous explorer Nansen failed. If you and your faculty of employment ever feel the urge to donate to support such a noble clause, please, feel free."

_Soliciting for donations in a doctor's office, how shameless_, thinks Alice, drying off her hands. "I'll keep that in mind."

The patient had the audacity to give her his business card. She pockets it without much fanfare.

After the patient leaves, Alice takes out her pocket notebook to quickly jot down her most recent apparent fault in memory. Adding to the bottom of an already rather lengthy list numbering multiple pages, she adds the line, "man on the moon?"

These have been happening more and more frequently recently, and it's concerning her.

Every now and again, she has a memory… not even a memory; a deeply ingrained knowledge or fact, of some sort. It would seem perfectly natural to her, but as soon as she thinks harder upon it, she would come to realize that it makes completely no sense in the real world.

Like, a moon landing mission? Something like that, if at all possible, would most likely not to be for at least another hundred years, by Alice's reckoning.

Yet in that brief moment of time, Alice's mind had been completely convinced that the moon had been reached _a century_ ago. Very strange. As a professional trained in the medical sciences, her mind is rather unhelpfully spitting out various frightening diagnoses for why her brain's memory keeps bringing up erroneous memories such as these.

Concerning.

So for the time being, Alice has just been recording down all these instances of deja-vu-like occurrences (but not déjà vu per se), in the hopes of discerning some sort of pattern from the madness.

As of yet, she has not been able to make any conclusions on the matter.

She taps her foot, frowning, staring at her notebook.

* * *

**28 March 1910**

**Britain**

Marisa Killigan (24 years old) is tinkering with the tractor treads in the workshop when she hears an explosive cuss sound out from the other room.

"Damn that Scott!" comes Skelton's voice in the distance. "How could he do this to me?"

Always fascinated by drama, Marisa drops her tools and runs over to the other room to see what all the fuss is about. "Yo dude," she says, waving a hand. "What's happening?"

"He kicked me out of his Antarctic Expedition!" cries Skelton, hitting the letter in his hand as if it were some morally offensive housefly. "I sailed with him on _Discovery_, you know? I thought I was going to be second-in-command. But no, he appoints this Lt. Evans chap, and apparently this Lt. Evans chap just can't stand the thought of a commander of senior rank serving under him. Ridiculous."

"Well that sucks," says Marisa, walking over and reading over the letter in Skelton's hands out of curiosity.

"All this work I put into these cutting-edge motor sledges that he asked of me, and this is how he repays me," says Skelton. "If these break down while they're down there, who's going to repair them?"

"Just tell him that, then, ya dolt," says Marisa. "Tell him off, to his face."

"I can't do that," says Skelton. He sighs. "He's the owner of the expedition, and my superior in rank. It would not do to question his decision. I'll just have to live with it. Such is life."

"Huh." Marisa doesn't really get these British Navy people and their rigid adherence to rank and authority or whatever. Seems kinda silly to her, to be honest. "Hey, about you let me go, then?" she says, grinning. "I've been bugging you about wanting to go as well, y'know. I wanna be the first to reach the South Pole as much as anyone else."

"A girl of your age, on an expedition as such as this?" Skelton scoffs. "Please. This isn't fun and games. People have died. It's a dangerous journey to the most inhospitable place on the planet, and it could last years. Don't be absurd."

"Dude. I've always been 100% serious." A wild energy glints in her eyes.

Skelton pauses, and then turns to Marisa with a more contemplating expression, as if considering the proposition more seriously for the first time.

"I know these motor sledges even better than you do," says Marisa. "You even said that yourself. I'm the one who made most of these improvements, after all. Come on, it'll be awesome."

"Huh," says Skelton. He smiles wryly. "Knowing you, you're just going to mount your own expedition from scratch and try and beat Scott to the Pole if I don't let you go, aren't you." He shakes his head.

"You bet your ass I would."

"You don't have nearly the funds nor the staff to make such a thing feasible," says Skelton, sounding amused.

"Well, I would make it work somehow anyway," says Marisa.

"Of course you would," chuckles Skelton. He turns back to Scott's letter, clearly starting to seriously mull over the idea of sending Marisa over to Scott's expedition. "I'll think about it," he says. "I'll think about it."

* * *

**7 April 1910**

**_Reginald Skelton, letter to R.F. Scott:_**

_If dispensing with my services had been so easy, I'd rather it had been made clear 3 years ago when you first wrote to me about the motor sledges, rather than now at this late juncture in time, less than 3 months before the Terra Nova is due to sail from Cardiff._

_You have done me a major disservice, and I hope you realize that. Nevertheless, what's done is done. I'm sure Lt. Evans is an admirable chap and will aid you on your expedition immensely. Nevertheless, with my absence from the expedition, there is now a glaring hole in the expertise of your personnel that could be detrimental to the goals of the expedition as a whole: Namely, expertise on the subject of the motor sledges._

_I do realize that we tested the sledges both in Lillehammer and Gudbrandsdalen, but the conditions in these modest northern latitudes can hardly compared to the severe conditions far south, as I'm sure the both of us and Shackleton as well can attest to. In the event that something goes wrong with the sledges, you will be stuck with three very expensive paperweights._

_Thus, as a favour to me, I propose you take along one of my protégés, Killigan. Despite Killigan's young age, this chap is certainly as knowledgeable on matters of engineering and motors as myself; perhaps possessing knowledge even exceeding that of myself. Killigan has volunteered to go on the expedition without pay, and I think this chap's enthusiasm for Antarctic exploration will more than make up for the lack of experience. I personally give Killigan my full endorsement, and if you have any lingering respect for me at all, you will take this young fellow along with you down South._

_That is all._

_Skelton._

* * *

**30 April 1910**

**Norway**

After a long day of work at the hospital, Alice is content to curl up on her couch with a hot cup of cocoa to immerse herself in a good book or two (or seven, depending on if she has the next day off or not) before heading off to bed.

But nurses at the hospital were gossiping about expeditions or whatnot again, and Alice, curiosity slightly piqued, takes a brief moment to grab the Saturday newspaper and catch up on what on earth the big fuss is about.

Oh, more polar expedition nonsense.

Alice skims over the headlines. _Let's see…_

Ah, so Amundsen's North Pole Expedition, from her home country of Norway, is set to depart later this summer for the northern waters of the Arctic. Hoping to improve upon the earlier attempts by the explorer Nansen a couple of decades or so earlier, this Amundsen guy intends to steer the _Fram_ into the Arctic pack ice via the Bering Straight and then freeze in, hoping to be able to reach the North Pole after a drift of four to five years.

Meanwhile, it looks like the British South Pole Expedition will be departing this summer as well, with the _Terra Nova _steering south for Antarctica. Their plan seems to be to settle in and then, before the Antarctic summer ends, begin laying out supply depots along the route to the South Pole, the same route previously forged by Shackleton several years prior. They would winter over on the frozen continent, and then attempt a dash for the pole the following summer.

So it looks like these explorers have everything all figured out, then. She wishes them good luck on their cold journey; meanwhile, she'll be here in her cozy home, sipping hot cocoa.

She turns a page and notices that the British Antarctic Expedition has already posted a tentative personnel list for their expedition.

"So many people, daring to make such a foolhardy journey," says Alice, shaking her head.

As she skims the list, one name jumps out at her: _Marisa Killigan_.

Alice chuckles. "Ah, of course," she says, sounding amused. "Of course Marisa would be on this list. That's her, alright." She's about to flip the page when a sense of doubt settles over her.

And then everything just… _tilts._

A cold sweat breaks out all over her entire body. Her grip on the newspaper tightens until her skin turns white. With a shaking hand, she barely manages to set down her cup of cocoa on her side table without spilling it.

_Marisa? _Alice frowns. She clutches her head. _Who's Marisa?…_

Staring blankly at the page, she's startled when she realizes that the newspaper is slightly wet. Several drop splash marks have appeared on the page. Confused, she touches her face and feels a sensation of wetness there as well.

_I'm… crying? _She blinks rapidly, and then wipes her face with her sleeve. _Why?_ She looks back at the list, and back at the name that had shaken her so much.

_Marisa Killigan._

Staring at the name, she's filled with an overwhelming sense of grief and loss. Staring at the name some more, Alice frowns. The name looks so familiar to her, yet… It also looks just very slightly… _off_.

_It looks almost right,_ thinks Alice, _but not quite._ She rubs the back of her head, completely unsure of herself.

Alice blinks rapidly several times, and then wipes her eyes again. Flummoxed by the emotional ordeal, she goes to jot down her experience in her notebook, her hands still shaky. Then, she turns in early for the night.

* * *

**3 May 1910**

**Norway**

Alice takes the next three days off and binges through 14 books, 32 biographies, and 42 medical journal articles on the topic of polar exploration.

Sleep-deprived, but mind still wired, Alice sets her current book down, frowning. She jots down a few more things in a ruled notebook to her side.

Sometimes these memory faults of hers are particularly fantasy-like and unhelpful (man on the moon? really?) but some of them have given her real insight, and have actually the starting point for the several medical breakthroughs she's managed to push out into the academic world these past several years, ever since she finished her medical education at a very young age.

And so, she's never been able to just completely dismiss these strange recollections of hers outright.

She stares at the writing on one of the pages of her small pocket notebook, the one she uses to record these kinds of things.

_Amundsen, South Pole_.

Alice checked the newspapers again, but Amundsen's plans are unchanged. As far as the press are concerned, Amundsen's set to take off for the North Pole, not the South Pole.

Yet, why does she have this nagging feeling that this Amundsen intends to go south instead?

She frowns. "What am I doing," she mutters. How did she get into this frazzled, sleep-deprived state after only seeing a single name in a newspaper?

_Marisa._

Alice sighs. She has a hunch she's unable to just brush off, so she stands up and starts putting on her jacket. She hasn't gotten enough sleep at all these past several days, but she still has a little investigating to do.

* * *

**7 May 1910**

**Norway**

Following the address information on the business card that Leon Amundsen, the arm stitches guy, left her, Alice manages to track him down at the tail end of one of the many fundraisers the man has been holding these past several months.

After all the guests have left and after all the important equipment and display materials had been packed up, Leon walks out the door and bumps into a certain blonde-haired woman who had been walking by at that moment. "Apologies, ma'am," says Leon. And then he does a double-take. "Golly," he says. "I remember you. You're that young doctor who stitched me up, aren't you? Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, fancy that," says Alice. "This is certainly a most splendid coincidence." (It's a coincidence at all, but she's not going to point that out.) "Say, how is that expedition of yours going?" she asks casually.

"Oh, I'd say it's more my brother's expedition than my own," says Leon, smiling. "I just manage the finances. Roald's the one who's going to do most of the hard work in the snow."

"Is that so?" says Alice, forcing a pleasant smile. "So, I heard you were having raising funds for the expedition."

"Well," laughs Leon, rubbing the back of his head. "If you want to offer us more money, we'll certainly take it. That's all I can say."

"I may have a proposition for you." says Alice. "If you have a few minutes."

"Is that so?" asks Leon. "In that case, this is excellent news. Shall we go to a nearby café and discuss this over a drink?"

"Sure," says Alice.

"Then, I know a great place just around the block from here," says Leon, pointing. "The booths are fairly quiet, so there's a bit of privacy, excellent for discussions of a discreet nature."

"Perfect," says Alice. Her grip on her handbag tightens imperceptibly. "Lead the way."

* * *

After they've settled into their seats across from each other and their drinks have arrived, Alice takes a sip from her cup. "You're not going north at all, are you?" she says, watching the man very closely. "You're going south."

"Wh…" says Leon, blindsided. He quickly recovers, forcing a smile. "D…Don't be ridiculous. Our plan has always been to explore the Northern Arctic oceans. Those were the premises upon which we managed to obtain the usage of the ship _Fram_ from Nansen, and we intend to keep our obligations."

Alice raises an eyebrow. "Right, but you seemed startled back there. You're hiding it?"

"I…If you're just going to spout baseless speculations at me, I'm leaving," stammers Leon, moving to stand up.

"Now, now," says Alice, holding out her hand. "At least hear me out. North or south, let's just say I'm somewhat interested in your expedition has to offer, and I'm willing to provide finances towards your expedition. In return for a small favour, of course, but it's nothing unreasonable."

Hesitantly, Leon takes a seat. "How much are we talking about, here?"

"Hm, putting together the summation of my entire life's savings, a secured loan taken out against my home, in addition to the various academia reward prizes I have earned for my work, I can put up 25,000 kroner."

"25,000 kroner," repeats Leon, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Indeed," says Alice. The equivalent of about £1250 in the British currency of the present time—more than enough to purchase a home. She knows the money she's offering isn't nearly enough to cover the entirety of their remaining funding gap, but this was all she could manage to scrape together on short notice.

"That… is certainly more than I expected," says Leon. "That would certainly help us a lot. Not that I am one to look a gift horse in the mouth… but why are you willing to offer so much? I can't imagine someone as young as yourself has much capital to throw around to begin with!"

"I have my reasons," says Alice. _Because I saw a name in a newspaper a few days ago and it made me really sad. …Like I could tell him that. I'd sound like a lunatic!_

Leon fidgets in his seat, scratching his hair. Well, at least it got him to stay. Although he still looks uneasy from Alice's earlier comment about them going south instead of north.

"And now that I have your attention…" Alice clasps her hands together. "I've done a bit of investigating on my part. And I discovered that a fair number of your preparations seem oddly strange for an extended Arctic pack ice drift. For instance, the observation hut your brother has had constructed. It's abnormally sturdy and complex for its supposed purpose. But you know, it would indeed be a better fit for a stay on the Antarctic continent. I've also heard that you intend to have all a hundred or so sled dogs to be delivered from Greenland to an island just off the coast of Kristiansand. Why go through all that trouble when you could just pick them up from Alaska on your way north? It doesn't make sense… Not unless you were heading south to the Antarctic instead of heading north to the Arctic."

Leon just sits there, his expression tightening.

"Considering also your debt to the tune of some 200,000 kroner, I don't think you nearly enough funds for an extended stay in the Arctic Ocean," says Alice.

"How did you—"

"Here's what I think. My theory is: After Cook and Peary claimed the North Pole, public interest in your northern expedition started to dry out. Lacking the funds to complete your original expedition, you decided to switch destinations and aim to capture the South Pole, since the North Pole has already been conquered. From the publicity you gain from being the first ones to reach the South Pole, you plan to exploit the good 'optics' you seem to think so highly of, and use that to raise funds to complete your original mission to the North." She tilts her head. "Am I wrong?"

Leon gapes, and then his eyes narrow. "Have you told anyone about these… thoughts of yours?"

Alice shakes her head. "Not a single soul. I'm not normally the socializing type."

"Then, don't tell anyone," says Leon. "And keep it that way."

"Was perhaps I correct?" Alice asks innocently.

"Of course not," says Leon, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. "Baseless speculations."

"Then in that case, you won't mind if I publish these baseless speculations of mine in a prominent newspaper?" asks Alice, looking nonchalantly at her fingernails. "As a famed physician well known in the academia circles, I'm sure the local publication houses would be delighted to receive a piece of writing from me."

"D-Don't be silly. But we needn't unnecessarily antagonize the British, who are mounting their own South Pole expedition. Rumours, even false ones, can be damaging."

"Perhaps I am a bit old-fashioned," says Alice, "but I believe it result in less antagonistic feelings all around if you were upfront about your goals from the very start, rather than hiding it to the very last minute." She closes her eyes. "But I'm not here to question your decisions. It seems that you have made yours; and I have made mine." She opens her eyes.

Alice takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "I wish to travel to the geographical South Pole."

Leon stares, gobsmacked. Then, he laughs out loud. "Surely you jest. A young, frail woman such as yourself, hiking over a thousand miles across the beastly unfavourable conditions on the Antarctic continent? Please, be serious."

"I'm 100% serious," she says, staring him in directly in the eye.

Leon starts slightly at the intensity of her expression.

After a brief pause, Alice sneaks a brief glance at herself. She doesn't look _that_ frail, does she? She knows she ought to exercise more, but… It doesn't matter. She continues talking. "I think there's a fair bit I could personally contribute as a member of the expedition, so this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement, if you'll take me on." She reaches into her handbag and starts pulling out a few newspaper clippings.

"I pioneered the recent advances in knowledge regarding the treatment of frostbitten areas of the body, namely the practice of rapid rewarming," says Alice. "Preliminary studies have shown this modified treatment to result in reduced tissue damage and better prognoses overall." She'd pulled this development out of nowhere during a particularly cold winter several years back; sometimes her strange memory faults come in handy like that. "I'm not normally one to boast, but they've written a number of newspaper articles about my achievements, so if you're not convinced about my credentials, please feel free to examine these further." She pushes the clippings to Leon across the table.

A bit befuddled, Leon picks up one of them and starts reading it.

"I also understand you don't have a fully trained physician in your personnel list," says Alice.

"Roald does have _some_ medical education background," says Leon. "And we've given Gjertsen a lightning course in surgery and dentistry. So I'd say we've got things mostly covered."

"Indeed," says Alice, "but wouldn't it be nice if you had a more experienced physician with you on the Antarctic? I have plenty of applicable medical know-how that would be useful in the extended expedition context. Things like the correct amount of vitamin C to prevent scurvy…"

"Vitamin C?" repeats Leon, confused.

"…and extensive experience with surgeries such as appendectomies and tooth extractions," says Alice, "both of which tend to become necessary on extended expeditions such as these. I don't think it's a stretch to say I'm the best surgeon at the hospital in which I work. They normally hand me the more challenging ones, yet I have a higher success rate. Just so you're aware, in my experience as a doctor, I have performed over 1000 surgeries."

"1000?" repeats Leon. He covers his mouth. "Just how long have you been a doctor?"

"Quite a while," says Alice.

There's a long silence. Leon looks down and continues reading through the newspaper clippings.

Alice tries not to fidget. She's not sure if she's getting through to him or not. She bows her head. "Please. Consider my selfish request. And of course, the 25,000 kroner as well…"

"I can't make the final decision," says Leon. "That's Roald's call." He frowns pensively. "But I will run this by him."

"That is all I ask," says Alice. She smiles. "I'm glad we've reached an understanding."

"Don't speak to anyone else on the matter of the plans," says Leon, in warning tone. "Otherwise, 25,000 kroner or not, the deal's off."

"Of course," says Alice. "That's why I sought you out first. So that we could make a mutually agreeable deal."

Leon raises an eyebrow. He sighs. "You're too shrewd for your own good, you know that?"

Alice just smiles innocently.

"It's not going to be an easy journey, you know," says Leon. "It's going to be more than 1200 miles over ice and snow, and your body must be in top physical condition. Do you even know how to ski?"

"Of course," says Alice, sounding offended. "And I may not look it, but I am quite physically fit, and I have experience with survival in the outdoors as well."

"Good," says Leon, getting up from his seat. "Because you will need all those things."

On her way home, Alice stops by the bookstore to buy a few books:

_How to Ski for Beginners_

_Camping in the Wilderness: The Basics_

_How to Get in Shape Fast!_

…and several more along these lines.

* * *

**12 May 1910**

**Britain, West India Docks**

It looks like an interesting person showed up at the docks. Marisa jumps down from her work on the rigging on the ship to take a closer look.

This man almost looks like a farmer with his clean-shaven and weather-beaten face. He steps onto the deck of the _Terra Nova_, drawing a few confused glances from the other expedition staff already on board. "I'm Oates," says the man, introducing himself.

Some of the other expedition staff standing near the entranceway react with surprise. "You're Captain Oates?" Crean says incredulously. "I thought…" And then he trails off.

"You kinda look like a farmer!" says Marisa, breaking the silence. She chuckles.

The other men standing nearby avert their eyes, awkward expressions on their faces. Most of them were all thinking the same thing, but none of them thought it was a good idea to actually _voice_ that thought.

"I don't hate that, though!" says Marisa. "Farmers are cool."

"Cool?" repeats Oates. He doesn't seem particularly offended by Marisa's words; more confused, than anything. He turns to Lt. Evans. "Who's this one?" asks Oates, pointing at Marisa.

"Oh, that's Skelton's brat," says Campbell. "Skelton couldn't come because of _Teddy Evans_ here, so Skelton sent one of his apprentices instead. Killigan's going to help out with the motor sledges."

"Huh," says Oates. "He looks a lot like a woman."

"That's because I _am_ a woman!" says Marisa, jabbing a thumb at herself.

"Really?" Oates raises an eyebrow. "Now that's rare, for a journey like this. Unheard of, even. I'm surprised Scott approved."

"Well," says Lt. Evans, coughing. "Unfortunately, Skelton left out a certain important… ah, _detail_ when volunteering her services."

"What, my gender?" says Marisa, waving her hand. "Who cares about that? Ah, more importantly, looks like more of my equipment from the workshop's arrived. I'd better go pick it up. Later, y'all!" she says, running off.

Lt. Evans coughs again. "Anyway," he says.

"She's been a decent help with preparing the ship for travel," Campbell gruffly, "so I think she'll be all right."

"Oh," says Oates. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

Campbell grunts, nodding.

Oates sighs. "I guess she'll do just fine down south, then. With that kind of energy…"

* * *

**13 May 1910**

**Norway, Christiania waterfront**

Despite trying hype herself up beforehand (although she remains outwardly calm, these sorts of interactions with people always gives her some nerves), Alice can't help but feel a bit intimidated when meeting the leader of the Norwegian expedition, Roald Amundsen. Alice's first impression of the man is that he's a no-nonsense sort of person.

Amundsen had been busy with preparing the _Fram _for departure, so that's why Leon and Alice are here at the Christiania waterfront for their first meeting.

Upon seeing their arrival, Amundsen took a few minutes to finish up what he's doing, and then hops onto land and walks on over to them. "So you're the doctor," he says, appraising her with a skeptical eye. "And you're interested in polar exploration."

"Indeed," says Alice. "I am Dr. Alice Mathisen, from the National Hospital."

"Is that so," says Amundsen, frowning. "Let me first say that your knowledge or skills aren't the only things matter in a crew member on this expedition. You must also be able to work well with the other members."

Alice nods, wincing inwardly. "Of course."

"Now tell me," he says, "why should I let you come with us? 25,000 kroner is nice and all, but all the money in the world would be worthless if you just end up being dead weight and getting us all killed."

Alice closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I won't be a burden," she says. "I can pull my own weight. Besides I think my presence on your mission may be of use to you. I don't know why you've been keeping your plans a secret, but I can't help but think there will be a severe public backlash if you reveal your plans at the last minute, with accusations of you wanting to subvert the British Antarctic Expedition and whatnot." Alice continues, "I've heard that you intend to eschew any scientific priorities at all in favour of getting to the pole first. Surely this will also be criticized, even if you do reach the pole first, because the British Expedition has a large focus on scientific programmes."

"This and that are completely different," says Amundsen. "Our expeditions are so different they can't even be compared. The British have a whole slew of scientific priorities, of which the pole is only a side interest. For us, our priority lies with the pole and the pole alone."

"Perhaps," says Alice, "but I don't think the public will see it that way. Even if you achieve the pole first, I think many in the public, especially the British, will see it as cheating and unsportsmanlike, because this challenge of yours would have been thrown on Scott at the last minute."

"Don't be absurd," says Amundsen. "The British don't own the Antarctic. Just because they have been planning a mission to the place doesn't mean they have a monopoly on it."

"Be that as it may," says Alice, "I don't think the majority of the public will be convinced by that kind of argument. In fact, you're afraid of the public backlash, aren't you? You're afraid of your sponsors and your supporters forcing you to stop or abandoning you. That's why you're planning on hiding your intentions until very last moment, when you're too late to be stopped."

Amundsen pauses, and then turns to Leon. "Who the hell kind of trouble have you dug up this time?" he asks, sounding vaguely annoyed.

"S-she's just a doctor I know," says Leon, holding his hands up defensively.

"I can help with public relations," Alice says coolly. "I've collaborated on journal papers with a number of university researchers, including British ones." She doesn't point out that her connections aren't really that close (she doesn't even know some of their first names). But surely the paper collaborations would be enough? "I'm also told my medical and surgical skills are top-notch," she says. "So I'll be more of a help than burden."

"Well, what if you are need in surgery yourself?" asks Amundsen.

"Then I'll perform self-surgery," Alice says calmly. "It's nothing I haven't done before." _Wait. _A faint doubt in her memories again. _No, now is so not the time for this. Ignore it._

"Ha!" Amundsen says. "I admire your boldness, but there's no need to go that far. Between Gjertsen and myself, we should be more than enough to handle anything in the event something goes wrong." He crosses his arms. "Well, I suppose having a backup physician could always be nice…" He turns his gaze to the ship. "Very well. In about a month, the _Fram_ will be leaving for a preliminary cruise in the North Atlantic to test the new diesel engine, and take some oceanographical readings for Nansen on the side. If you can work well with the men on this mission, then I'll see what I can do about including you in the roster for the polar expedition."

"Thank you," says Alice, standing at attention. "You won't regret it."

"We'll see about that," says Amundsen. "And not a word of my plans to any of the men, you hear? No one other than myself and my brother are to know, and I will not tolerate any leaks."

"U-Understood," says Alice.

"Now come," says Amundsen. "If you want to work with us, you're going to have to meet the other crew members."

As Alice follows the man, she starts doubting herself again. _Just what on earth am I doing?..._

But it's too late to back out now.

* * *

"Really?" one of the crew members says doubtfully. "A woman? On a journey like this?"

And so Amundsen says: "If Mathisen is helpful, she stays; if she's not, I'll kick her out. Simple as that."

_Ughh, how blunt_, thinks Alice, wincing inwardly. _But I don't hate that._

* * *

**17 May 1910**

**Britain, West India Docks**

Marisa spots another new face down on the docks. Another new expedition member? This guy looks quite young. Curious, she hops down from the ship to see what's going on.

The young-looking guy has a bag slung over his shoulder. He's gawking up at the _Terra Nova_, face slightly awed. Lt. Evans and Campbell are talking with the new guy.

"Yo," says Marisa, raising a hand as she approaches the group. "Is this kid joining us as well?"

"Yes," says Lt. Evans. "I hear Scott recruited him for his skiing expertise."

"I actually know him," says Campbell, pointing at the young guy. "I met Gran before at a Norwegian mountain hotel. I can certainly vouch for his skills. He is an excellent skier. As expected of a Norwegian."

"So he's from Norway?" says Marisa, smiling. "Neato!" She shoots out a hand. "The name's Killigan, nice to meetcha."

"Oh," says Gran, looking slightly confused. He takes Marisa's outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Killigan."

"Hey now, that's no way to address your elder," says Marisa, raising a finger. "And I'm a mister, not a miss. Call me sir."

"Wh… yes, sir," stammers Gran.

"I'm just messin' with ya!" laughs Marisa, slapping Gran on the back. "I'm a girl."

"…Oh," stammers Gran. "Right."

Lt. Evans and Campbell exchange an exasperated glance.

"You look pretty young for someone going on this journey," says Marisa. "Most of the other guys I've seen were older dudes like in their 30s or 40s. How old are you?"

"I'm… 22 years old," he says.

"I'm 25 years old," says Marisa. She smirks. "Huh, so I _am_ older than you. Nice."

"Twenty-five?" he says incredulously. "You're so short, I could have mistaken you for a college freshman."

"How rude," says Marisa, hands on her hips, but not really sounding offended at all. "Hmmm. But I guess I am pretty short." She points at him. "Ah, that reminds me, there's one other young'un on this expedition," says Marisa. "Cherry-Garrard, 24 years old. Nice kid. You should say hi to him! So so so, I hear Captain Scott originally denied his application to join, but this Cherry kid decided to donate £1,000 to the expedition even after he was rejected. And that impressed Captain Scott so much, he decided to let him join after all."

"That's… very admirable," says Gran.

Marisa laughs. "I should've thought of that first! My application was rejected too, after all. But of course, I don't have £1,000. Luckily, Skelton had my back, so I managed to somehow make it in anyway."

"Wait," says Gran. "You're an expedition member as well?"

"Yup," she says, winking. "I'm aimin' to be one of the first people to reach the South Pole!"

"Really?" asks Gran, turning to Lt. Evans. "I'm surprised. Is this true?"

Lt. Evans coughs again, looking vaguely exasperated with this question by now. "Well, yes," he says.

"You said you know how to ski?" asks Marisa. She jabs a finger at Gran. "I can ski, too! Let's race. I wonder who's faster."

"P…Pardon?" Gran blinks. "But there's no snow here…"

"Then we'll wait until we get to the ice!" says Marisa, flashing a thumbs up. "That a deal?"

"Er, sure…"

"Excellent!" Marisa turns and points at him. "You're going down! Now 'scuse me, I've gotta get back to work, later!" She runs off back to the ship.

Gran stares. "I feel like a tornado just swept past me," he mutters.

Campbell lets out a barking laugh. "Killigan'll do that to you. Now, how's about we show you your quarters…"

* * *

**7 June 1910**

**Norway**

The _Fram_ quietly departs from Christiania at midnight, without much fanfare. Thus begins their month-long test cruise in the North Atlantic.

This is Alice's first time on a ship in open waters, and because of the ship's rounded hull (purposefully designed to be able to easily escape sea ice without suffering damage) the ship rocks back and forth a great amount.

But strangely, Alice doesn't feel seasick at all. It's as if she's already used to these kinds of unsteady stomach-flipping movements.

She just considers herself lucky that the men won't be treated to sights of her throwing up over the railing, because who knows what kind of damage that would do to her credibility. She still sees herself as on thin ice, and she's aware her position on the expedition is still as precarious as ever.

She won't be able to relax until they've set out for Antarctica for good.

* * *

**15 June 1910**

**Britain**

The _Terra Nova_ departs from Cardiff with much fanfare. An enormous crowd screaming, waving—the whole works. Probably some thousands of people showed up to the docks to see them off.

After checking that everything is order, Scott left the ship and returned to shore. He's still busy with some last-minute fundraising and publicity efforts. Funds for the expedition are still as much of a pain to acquire as ever, it seems. He says he'll catch up with them in New Zealand.

"I'm kind of glad my mum didn't show up," says Oates, leaning against the railing. "I hate these kinds of awful goodbyes."

"Well that just sounds sort of mean," says Marisa, standing next to him. "I'm sure your mum really loves you."

"That's precisely why the goodbye would be so painful," says Oates. He glances at Marisa. "What about you?" he asks, sounding disinterested, as if asking the question out of boredom more than anything else. "You have anyone seeing you off?"

"Nah," says Marisa, her hands behind her head. "Not really."

"Hm, not even your parents?" asks Oates.

Marisa shakes her head. She says casually, "I don't have parents anymore."

"…Oh." There's a long pause. Oates doesn't ask Marisa any more questions after that.

* * *

**20 June 1910**

**Alice, North Atlantic Ocean**

A knock on the door. Then, the cook, Lindstrøm, barges in. "Dinner bell rang 10 minutes ago!" he shouts. "What are you doing?"

Alice and Gjertsen look up from a large piece of paper on the desk with various scribbles on it.

"Oh, we were just comparing notes on surgical best practices," says Gjertsen.

"Is that so?" says Lindstrøm.

"I had my doubts at first, but this young lady has some fascinating ideas," says Gjertsen. "I think I will enjoy seeing what she has to offer on the ice."

"Well that can wait until after supper, can't it?" says Lindstrøm, crossing his arms. "Hurry it up."

Gjertsen sighs. "Right, of course." He gets up and walks out the door.

"You too, Mathisen," Lindstrøm in a stern voice.

"Please wait just a moment," says Alice, scribbling something on the sheet of paper. "Just allow me to finish my train of thought."

Lindstrøm taps his foot.

Alice continues scribbling.

Lindstrøm stomps his foot loudly on the ground.

Alice jumps in surprise.

"I won't wait any longer," he says. "If you let the food I made go to waste, I'm taking that as a personal affront."

Alice pales, suddenly standing up. "Right, of course. Apologies."

"No wonder you're so scrawny," says Lindstrøm, taking a closer look at Alice. "Are you like this every day with your parents?"

"…Actually, I moved out of my parents' home several years ago."

"Well, no wonder," mutters Lindstrøm. He slaps a hand on Alice's shoulder. "We've got to fatten you up a bit! I'm giving you double servings today. Come, come!"

"…Er, right, of course." Alice tenses follows Lindstrøm out of the room.

"I notice you've been sinking your teeth into all sorts of different oceanographic studies!" says Lindstrøm. He laughs loudly. "That's good, that's good."

"Er, well," says Alice, glancing away. "I am fascinated by all sorts of different sciences."

"Is that so? Then that's good, then. Though..." Lindstrøm taps Alice's shoulder. "You're not used to working closely with people, are you?"

Alice closes her eyes. "Well…"

Lindstrøm laughs, loudly. "Believe me, I can tell. When it comes to talking about smart work things, well, it looks like you can get by just fine. But when it comes to casual conversations, you just clam up like an oyster!"

Alice winces, glancing away.

"See, there it is again!" He raises a finger. "You know, once we're on the polar latitudes, the winter nights will be long and dark, and we'll all only have each other for company. And you're not going to get by with only smart work discussions there! We're going to have to live alongside one each other." He sighs. "I don't know why a young lady such as yourself is so keen on throwing away years of your life on a cold, icy mission with us old coots. But you're not going to survive if you just continue being this scrunched up, withdrawn person!"

_Years?... Wait, that's right. Amundsen hasn't seen fit to inform his crew members of the change in plans yet._

"…Apologies," says Alice, she glances at the ground. "…It might have been a mistake, then. Bringing me on board."

"Hey now, no need to take it so seriously," says Lindstrøm. "This is just a little bit of friendly advice, that's all. But you know? Amundsen personally hand-picked all of us to be a part of his crew. Well… except for Johansen. But that's beside the point. I don't think Amundsen would have let you on board at all if he didn't see any potential in you. Just keep working at it, that's all."

Alice takes a deep breath. "Right," she says. "Of course."

"That's the spirit," he says as they walk into the loud and chatty dining hall.

"You're rather blunt, aren't you," murmurs Alice.

"I just say things as they come to me, that's all," says Lindstrøm, shrugging. "Since we're all on the same crew, I just want everyone to get along."

"Hm," says Alice, smiling. _Marisa's always been the straightforward type too._ Then, Alice winces inwardly. She presses a finger to her forehead. Another memory fault?

These have been happening a lot more frequently lately.

* * *

**21 June 1910**

**Alice, North Atlantic Ocean**

_"I… I love you, Marisa."_

_The short blonde laughs lightheartedly. "I know, Alice. I love you too, Alice."_

_"I… I don't mean like that. I meant… as more than just friends."_

_"Liiiike I said, Alice. I know. And I love you too."_

_"Wh-what!?"_

_"Ehe.__You're kind of obvious about it. And I've been saying all this time."_

_"Marisa?... But I just assumed… That you weren't… That you didn't…"_

_"Well, you know what they say happens when you assume something."_

_"Marisa, that joke doesn't work in Japanese."_

Alice slowly wakes up in her bed. It takes her a moment to remember where she is. The gentle rocking motion of the _Fram_ brings her back to her senses. Wiping her eyes (was she crying in her sleep?), she sits up in her bed. She takes a deep breath and lets it out.

What was that? Was that a dream? Or another one of those memory faults?...

It's never happened to her in her sleep before, though.

She picks up her pocket notebook and flips it to the last entry.

_Marisa. Straightforward._

Was this because she'd been thinking about this Marisa again yesterday?

It's very strange. She knows for a fact that she's never met this "Marisa Killigan", member of the British Antarctic Expedition, in her life, but she has this vague sense that she already knows what this Marisa looks like.

Very, very strange.

* * *

**9 July 1910**

**Norway**

_Fram_'s North Atlantic cruise is coming to its end. They'll be pulling into Norway sometime within the next day. The test cruise brought up some problems with the diesel oil thickness and the engine. They'll have to get that figured out before they leave for Antarctica.

There's a knock on the door, and then Prestrud walks in to see Alice falling to the ground in a pushup position. "Mathisen—" He stares. "What are you doing?"

"Burpees," says Alice. She gets up from the ground. She grabs a towel from a nearby table and wipes her face. "To improve my cardiovascular fitness."

"You do this every day?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Wh-what? It's effective."

"Anyway, Amundsen called for you."

"Right," says Alice, setting the towel on the table. "I'll be right there."

After arriving at Amundsen's cabin, he tells Alice to shut the door behind her.

"I've thought on your words," says Amundsen, frowning. "Do you really think the public will view my change in plans favourably?" he asks.

"Favourably or not, I don't think it's going to change much, whether you reveal it now or later," says Alice, taking a seat. "So might as well get it over with."

"Alternatively, it's better to keep it a secret for as long as possible then," says Amundsen. "As I have been doing up until now."

"Personally, I'd just want to get it over with as soon as possible," says Alice. "But that's just me. If I lack conviction in my plans, then I suppose it would be rather alluring to be able to delay the announcement of my plans to the very last minute so that I can escape the backlash of the news."

"Is that so," says Amundsen, his face unreadable.

"Perhaps I'm a bit old-fashioned," says Alice, "but I think this deceit is unnecessary. I heard that you obtained the use of this ship from Nansen specifically for the purpose of an expedition in the _northern _polar latitudes. If anyone would be upset with this deceit, it would be him. But I have a feeling Nansen would be just fine with this small little change to your plans, and I'm certain he would be even more receptive to your plans if you told him sooner rather than later."

"Hm…" says Amundsen, frowning. "You understand I'm taking a rather large risk here if I reveal these plans this early. That's why I've kept this strictly between my brother and myself for almost a year now. The media attention would only be a distraction for my preparations. The South Pole isn't to be taken lightly, and proper care must be taken to account for every possible eventuality down there."

"For handling media attention, isn't that what your brother for?" Alice says. "And for preparations, I think you'd be able to prepare better if you could make preparations openly rather in the stealth-like fashion you've been doing up until now, wouldn't you say?"

Amundsen frowns. "It would still be an unnecessary distraction."

Alice shrugs. "Do as you wish. I'm going to be here regardless. But I would inform Nansen, at the very least. As we're using his ship, I think it would be the correct interpersonal move to secure his permission before departing. But that's just my opinion."

He closes his eyes. "Your opinion is noted."

There really isn't anything else to talk about after that, so Amundsen tells Alice that she's free to go.

That evening, Amundsen pens a lengthy letter.

After _Fram_ arrives back in Norway the next day, Alice just happens to catch a glimpse of Amundsen handing off the letter to Leon.

_Oh_, she thinks. _Okay._

* * *

**26 July 1910**

**Marisa, South Trinidad**

As the _Terra Nova _continues south, it makes a short stop off the east coast of Brazil. The scientific staff on board decide to take this opportunity to hunt for some specimens on the uninhabited island.

Nelson goes for the coral pools. Lillie takes on the botany and geology. Pennell and Bowers go for the insects and earthworms. And Wilson and Cherry-Garrard go for the birds. Somewhat restless after a month at sea, Marisa decides to tag along with Cherry and Wilson rather than staying on the ship.

"You seem right at home here, Killigan," comments Wilson as Marisa dashes around on the rocks.

"Well yeah, the sea is fun and all, but I think I like land much better." Marisa bends down and grabs something off of the ground. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick?" she asks, holding out her hands.

"I suppose you'll show me regardless of how I answer," says Wilson, sighing, as if he's used to this now.

Marisa grins. "One stone in my right hand," she says, dropping a small rock into her right hand, and then closing it. She holds out both fists. "Now which one is it in?"

"The right, I suppose."

Marisa opens her right hand. It's empty. "Nope, you really ought to pay closer attention, Uncle Bill!"

"Then, the left."

Marisa opens her left hand. It's also empty.

Wilson stares at her hands. There's a long pause.

"…Right, how did you do that."

Marisa winks. "A magician never reveals her secrets!"

Wilson just sighs. "You and your magic."

* * *

**30 July 1910**

**Norway**

Amundsen seems like he's in a better mood than usual.

_Things must have gone well with Nansen, then,_ thinks Alice.

The entire expedition staff have been summoned to the bridge of the ship. Some twenty-odd men are standing there, slightly confused about why Amundsen suddenly summoned all of them here.

"As you no doubt may have noticed, many of our preparations may seem strange for an extended stay on the Arctic pack ice," says Amundsen.

_Oh, he's finally coming out with it now, is he?_ Alice thinks. _Finally._

"Ever since Peary and Cook claimed the North Pole, I have been secretly making modifications to our planned expedition. Before proceeding with our plans for the Arctic drift, we will first have a brief additional diversion. It is my intention to land a party on the Antarctic continent to travel to the South Pole."

There's a long silence, with shocked expressions on (almost) everyone's faces.

Bjaaland, the champion skier that Amundsen recruited, is the first one to break the silence. "That means we'll get there first!" he shouts, sounding delighted.

Slowly, the other members of the expedition begin coming out with similarly excited sentiments.

Alice just watches with a sense of detachment.

After the excitement has calmed down, Amundsen continues. "It would be unfair of me to compel any of you to go with such a significant change in our plans," he says. "So I release all of you from your obligations. Whether you stay on board or leave, that is up to you." He then goes up to each expedition member and asks each of them individually whether they would accept the modified plan.

Every single person says yes.

Alice notes that Amundsen goes through the trouble of asking herself as well, even though she already knows. _Got to keep up appearances, I suppose._ "Yes," she says, without a second thought.

Amundsen returns to the front of the crowd, nodding in satisfaction. "So it seems that we are all on board with this modified plan. Very well." He begins outlining his plan in more detail.

Their plan will be to sail down south to Antarctica, and land at the Bay of Whales. Ten people will go ashore and start setting up camp to prepare for the winter. The remaining ten will remain on the _Fram_ and sail back up north to Buenos Aires, to refuel. For most of the next year, the _Fram_ will undergo a period oceanographic research on the open waters. The _Fram_ will then return to Antarctica to pick up the wintering team in early 1912, after which hopefully the pole will have been already achieved.

The plan is met by enthusiastic shouts all around.

"I ask that all of you keep this in the strictest confidence," says Amundsen. "The public is to not know of our modified plans until we are safely along our way."

Alice just watches silently, with a wry smile. _One step closer, I suppose._

* * *

**31 July 1910**

**Norway**

Alice resigns from her position at the hospital.

"What's this all of a sudden?" asks the hospital director. "You took a leave of absence for a month, and now this…"

"Let's just say… I'm going on a journey to find myself," says Alice. "I won't be back for some number of years."

"Difficult to read, as always…" mutters the hospital director. "Are you certain? You've been an excellent help to this hospital, and it'd be a real shame to lose you. Is it for personal reasons? If there is anything we can do to help that can make you stay…"

"Thank you," says Alice. "But my decision is final." She bows, and then walks out the door.

Later that day, the hospital director just happens to spot one of the headlines on the newspapers.

_Dr. Mathisen From Norwegian Hospital Joins Fram Polar Expedition_

Included with the article is a candid shot of Dr. Mathisen, looking impassive as always. She's looking off to the side, as if not even aware of the camera at all.

"Mathisennnnnn!" shouts the hospital director, crinkling up the newspaper. _She could have at least told us. Honestly, although her quality of work is excellent, she can be so difficult to work with sometimes…_

* * *

Her parents are the more difficult challenge.

_Geh, I can sort of understand why Amundsen would want to dump the news at the last minute and not have to be around to deal with it_, thinks Alice, closing her eyes. _But I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't follow through with this._

Her parents are perplexed and don't really seem to understand why she's doing this at all.

Which… is fair. She barely understands why she's doing this herself.

They eventually come to an uneasy understanding.

* * *

**2 August 1910**

**Norway**

All 97 sledge dogs have been successfully taken on board the _Fram_.

"This certainly is a lot of them," says Alice.

"Four fewer since we first obtained them from Greenland," says Amundsen. "But still well within the tolerable margins, in any case." He pats one of them on the head. "I simply don't understand why the British are so reluctant to use dogs," he says, shaking his head. "In the snow, they are the only sensible choice. It will be their loss."

"Is that so?" says Alice.

"No need to sound so skeptical, Mathisen. I've lived with the Inuit up north. I know this to be the simple truth."

Alice just nods.

"Scott's headed to Cape Town next, is he?" asks Amundsen.

"That seems to be the case," says Alice, glancing at the newspaper in her hand.

"Very well, then."

* * *

**9 August 1910**

**Norway**

On the last day before leaving for Madeira, Alice scrambles to get all of her planned messages out in time.

After receiving permission from Amundsen, she starts sending out telegrams to her various academia connections at various universities to see what scientific programmes she can fit into their schedule without disrupting their schedule for the pole too much. Alice subtly begins probing geological and meteorological and biological scientists about _hypothetically_, which types of instrumentation and measurements would be desirable from a overwinter station in Antarctica.

In all of her messages, she says that she will receive their responses in Funchal, Madeira.

On a impulse decision, Alice sends out one additional telegram, one containing information she technically hasn't been given permission to reveal. (But she doesn't think it matters too much in the grand scheme of things.)

Then, she hurries onto the deck of the _Fram_, arriving shortly before Amundsen does, who had been sending off a few last-minute telegrams of his own.

"By the time we arrive in Madeira," says Amundsen, "Leon will have presented the modified plans for the _Fram_ to the King, and the world will know of our intentions for the south. I hope I have not made a grievous mistake in revealing my plans this early."

"If it was a mistake, it would have been a mistake whether you revealed it early or not," says Alice. "What's done is done."

In the late evening, without much fanfare, _Fram_ departs for Madeira. After arriving there, it will be their last port of call before departing for Antarctica.

_I wonder if I'll see her in Antarctica,_ thinks Alice, watching the dark waves off the deck of the ship. _That Marisa._ Alice closes her eyes. _She probably just be really weirded out if I met her though. And we'll be landing on different parts of the continent, anyway, so we probably won't meet. _She sighs, smiling. _I'm just being stupid._ _Though… perhaps I'd just had enough of an orderly daily life. Once in a while, it's nice to do something stupid, without thinking it through. I guess…_

* * *

**9 August 1910**

**_Telegram to Cape Town, South Africa._********_Addressed to R. F. Scott._**

_Beg leave to inform you Fram proceeding Antarctic. Amundsen._

* * *

**15 August 1910**

**Marisa, South Africa**

The _Terra Nova_ arrives in Simon's Bay, a short distance away from Cape Town, South Africa.

"One thing I don't get," says Marisa, shuffling a deck of cards, "is why we're bringing ponies on this trip. Aren't sledge dogs better suited for that kinda climate? You know, _mush_ and whatnot."

"Mush?" asks Gran, confused. "Well, ponies worked well enough for Shackleton, didn't they?"

"Well, Shackleton didn't make it to the pole now, did he." Marisa cuts the deck of cards. "I want to actually be able to get to the pole this time, ya know?"

"We _are_ bringing sledge dogs," says Cherry. "_And _ponies. _And_ your motor sleds. I think it makes sense to have a variety of tools at your disposal, in case some don't work out well. You know, like biodiversity in an evolutionary context. I'm sure Scott knows what he's doing."

"Mmmm?" says Marisa, not sounding entirely convinced. "I guess…" She riffles the deck, flips a card out of the deck, and catches it on her nose. She turns to the two young men. "Is this your card?"

Cherry blinks. "It is."

"That's fascinating," says Gran, in awe. "How did you do that?"

Marisa winks. "A magician never reveals her secrets."

Suddenly, Scott appears on the deck, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Oh hey Captain Scott, you're back," says Marisa, grinning, taking the card from her nose and slipping it back into her deck of cards.

Scott just nods tersely. "Gran," he says. "See me in my cabin."

Mystified, Gran glances at Marisa and Cherry. But the two of them look as clueless as himself. So Gran gets up to start following Scott to his cabin.

After the two round the corner, Marisa jumps forward and begins stealthily following them.

"Wait," hisses Cherry. "What are you doing? We shouldn't follow them."

"Hush," says Marisa, walking around the corner, bending down and pressing her ear against the door to Scott's cabin.

"Gran," says Scott. Marisa hears the sound of something paper-sounding unfolding from inside the cabin. "What do you make of this?"

"A telegram?" comes Gran's confused voice. There's a brief pause. "Wh... I… I don't know. This is the first I've heard of this?" There's another pause. "If this telegram is to believed," says Gran, "it seems that… Amundsen is headed for Antarctica?"

"You don't know anything about this," says Scott.

"No, I don't," says Gran. "I'm as confused as you are." There's a pause. "Perhaps Nansen would know more. Perhaps it would be worth a try cabling him to ask for an explanation?"

Marisa glances back at Cherry. "Whoa," she whispers.

"What's going on?" Cherry asks.

"Amundsen," says Marisa. "Seems like he wants the South Pole too."

"Killigan!" barks Scott's voice from inside the cabin. "If you're going to eavesdrop, you might as well just come in!"

Marisa smiles sheepishly. "Oops. Busted." Shrugging, she gets up, opens the door, and walks in.

"Cherry, you as well?" says Scott, looking vaguely irritated.

"A…Apologies," says Cherry. "I was trying to convince her to stop…"

"I'll bet," says Scott. He throws a folded card onto his table. "Anyway, Killigan, there's a telegram for you as well."

Marisa blinks. "What, me? But no one even knows I'm here."

Scott points at the card on the counter. "That's you, isn't it? Marisa Killigan."

Marisa stares. "Huh. That's right." She steps forward, opens it up, and starts reading.

_Not sure if you will receive this. We have never met before, but for some reason, I feel that you are trustworthy, so please keep this in the strictest confidence. I suspect Amundsen will have been terse in his explanation as always, so I ought to elaborate. First of all, these plans have been in the making since Sep. 1910, so please do not see this as a last-minute change of plans to subvert your expedition. We have no intentions of forestalling your intended settlement at McMurdo Sound. We plan on landing in the Bay of Whales. Best of luck. Alice Mathisen._

Marisa stares. She stares and stares.

"Recently, I read that Amundsen's expedition was taking a woman with them, too," says Cherry, reading over Marisa's shoulder. "A doctor. Alice Mathisen, I believe her name was."

"Alice… Mathisen?" repeats Marisa.

Cherry nods. "Do you know her?" he asks.

"N…No, I don't think so?" says Marisa. She frowns, pressing a hand against her forehead.

"You don't sound really sure," says Scott. He snatches the telegram from Marisa's hand and reads it for himself. "Why cable someone she doesn't even know? Amundsen's sure picked up a weird one."

"Maybe she randomly picked a name from the expedition list?" says Cherry. He shrugs. He glances at Marisa. "Killigan, you all right? You look a little pale."

Marisa blinks, and then forces a smile. "I'm fine, I'm fine. It's nothing." She then looks away, rubbing the back of her head, as if trying to remember something important. _Alice?… Alice…_


End file.
